


Abracadabra

by Medeafic



Series: Supernova [5]
Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: Biting, D/s, M/M, Masturbation, Pain, Sado-Masochism, Scratching, abrasions, heaving bruising
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-02-21
Updated: 2011-02-21
Packaged: 2017-10-15 20:44:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/164774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Medeafic/pseuds/Medeafic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chris figures out a few things about Zach, but not before a bit of angst.  And Zach finishes what he started.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Abracadabra

**Author's Note:**

> This chapter is somewhat more intense. Please don't read it if you think any of the warnings might trigger you.

Chris jolts awake at five a.m., flailing in the bed.

“Sorry, sorry,” Zach gasps.  “Did I hurt you?”

Chris stares at him through the early morning gloom, tries to slow his wheezing for air, and eventually his nerve endings start to calm.  “I don’t know.  What happened?”

“I hugged you.  Sorry.  Not hard, but I should’ve known–”

Chris snorts, still half asleep.  “Yeah, apologize for hugging me.”  But then he looks at his chest, in the dim light looking puffy and dark and unnatural, and his head gets a little dizzy.  “Okay, lying down.”  His eyes adjust and he can see Zach a little better, and the bulky things taped to his fingers.  “The hell are those?”

“Ice pads, for my fingers.  They’re sore from yesterday.  How are you feeling?”

“Also sore.”

“Descriptive.”

“Well, I’m not going to be a goddamn thesaurus at five in the morning.  With a car-crash chest.”

Zach is looking at him, Chris knows, but he keeps his eyes shut.  His body is aching, not just his torso but _all over_ , and it’s Zach’s fault, and he kind of wants to kill him, but he’s missed this feeling so much.

“We won’t do any more,” Zach says decisively, and Chris’s eyes fly open.

“Excuse the fuck out of me, but you can _ask me_ before you say stuff like that.”

“I don’t have to ask.  You’re clearly –”

“Zach, I just woke up.  It’s ass o’clock in the morning and I _hurt_.  Give me five minutes to figure out how I feel before making any pronouncements, okay?”  Chris settles into another position, trying to find the least painful.  Even the soft comforter is too heavy on him.  “Can we…just go back to sleep and talk about it later?”

Zach sighs.  “I’ve been awake since four.  But, yeah.  You try.”

Chris slowly, gingerly, turns on to his side to face Zach, smiling.  “Wow.  So filled with pathos.  You’re an expert at guilt-tripping, you know that?”

“I like to think I’ve perfected the art.  Took years of dedication.”

“At least you’re honest about it.”

Zach reaches out to stroke his face.  “Seriously, though.  How _are_ you feeling?”

Chris considers, stretching gently, watching Zach watch him.  “My chest is killing me,” he admits.  “But apart from that, okay.”

“What about in here?”  He taps lightly on Chris’s forehead, between his eyes.

“My head’s doing okay.  Except for being conscious too early.  But since I’m awake now, you – you wanna talk about what you wanted to do next?”

“Next, I’m going to get you another painkiller.  And an ice pad.”

“But you said nothing for the bruises last night!”

“I need to get the swelling down a bit.”  Zach slides out of the bed, pulling off his own ice packs.  “Whether or not we do anything today.”

“But–”

“And I’m going to get us some coffee.  There’s a place right down the street, unless you’d prefer me to stay here with you?  I can just make us some here if…”

The last time they did something like this, Chris remembers, he felt such ambivalence towards Zach’s presence.  Come here, go away, come here, for twenty-four hours, maybe longer.  “No.  I’m alright, for now.  Go get the coffee.”

After bringing another painkiller to him, and taping an ice pad carefully over his chest – Chris feels ridiculous, like the Michelin Man – Zach leaves for coffee, and Chris drags himself to the bathroom.  It’s impossible to avoid looking in the mirror afterwards; curiosity has always been one of his driving forces, and of course he takes off the pad.  It looks bad, _so_ bad, like he’s been in a serious accident or had major surgery or been turned inside out, but then he always bruises so easily, and that’s something Zach has commented on before.  He presses his fingers delicately into his skin, thick and tight over his ribs, and curses as an agony shoots through him.

“My boyfriend is out on a coffee run,” he tells his reflection.  “My boyfriend likes to see inside me.  That’s normal between us, right?”

He thinks it might be too much, this – whatever this is.  And there it is, it’s the start of the drop: a little uncertainty and a little doubt and a vague sense of desolation.  He puts the ice pad back and goes back to bed, where it’s still warm, and Zach’s pillow still smells like him.  Tries to do some of that yoga breathing he’s been learning the last few days, tries to empty his mind, wills the painkiller to kick in, and then he hears the door open again and the warm, familiar scent of coffee is wafting down the hallway towards him.

Zach helps him sit up in the bed, arranging pillows behind him and smoothing the covers.  Chris can see him glancing at the colors peeking out from the sides of the ice pad, trying to focus on Chris’s face instead, but it’s difficult for him, obviously difficult.

“I was going to get you a chai latte, but I figured you’d probably throw it at me.”

“You figured right.”  Once he’s finished half of his coffee, Chris feels a little more awake and a little less like murdering his boyfriend for waking him up so early.  Zach is quiet, but the silence is comfortable enough.  “Is it really bad?  The bruising?”

“It looks beautiful,” Zach says sincerely.  “It’s exactly what I wanted.”

Chris puts his head back, closes his eyes.  “What did you want to do today?”  His heart is beating harder, and he wills it to slow, because he honestly thinks it might start hitting too hard into his painful ribs.

“We don’t have to do anything.”

“That’s not what I asked.”  Chris finishes off his coffee with an enormous swallow and starts shuffling down in the bed again.  Everything hurts less when he’s horizontal, although he wishes the ice pad didn’t weigh so heavily on him.  Zach tries to help by holding up the covers as he tosses and turns to find a comfortable position, and Chris has to fight not to slap his hands away in irritation.

“Not so great in here anymore?”  Zach taps at his own head this time.

“No.  I guess not.”

“What do you need?”

“I need you to answer my question.  What did you want to do today?”

Zach shifts to lie down next to him.  “May I?” he asks, his hand hovering over Chris’s shoulder.

“Yes.  Just not the chest.”

“Of course.”  Zach lets his hand drift gently down on him, and his palm is so warm and dry and soft next to the cool mass of the ice pack that Chris feels a wave of gratitude.  “What I wanted to do was layer more color on top.  To define the picture more sharply.”

Chris feels sick, briefly, around his diaphragm.  “Would it hurt?  Like before?”

“Very much.  But not the same kind of pain.”

Chris lifts a hand to cover his face and breathes yoga breaths, in and out, mindful, tender as his lungs expand his traumatized flesh.  “Jesus, Zach.”

“We don’t have to do anything, that’s what I’m saying.  I’m not going to be disappointed if–”

“Just – don’t say anything right now, okay?  Please.  Let me think for a minute.”

They lie, voiceless, and Chris feels the ice pad grow gradually tepid, listening to Zach breathing, more yoga-controlled than he’ll ever be, he thinks.

“You do yoga.”

“Yeah,” Zach replies, bewildered. 

“And you eat tofu and organic meat.”

“Well.  I slip occasionally.”  Zach looks guilty.  “Hamburgers, you know?  Hard to resist.”

“And you support charities – especially animal charities.”

Zach doesn’t say anything this time, and Chris turns to look at him.  His face is expressionless, but his eyes are suspicious.

“And that necklace you wear, the Aum–” Zach makes a strange jerk-stop movement from Chris’s shoulder with his hand, and Chris knows without a doubt that he was instinctively moving to cover it.  Chris might have been doing yoga for less than a week, but he’s researched it thoroughly, because that’s how he rolls.  He’s always wondered idly why Zach wears that particular symbol and now he thinks he’s beginning to understand.  “And sometimes you say things–”

“What are you trying to get at?”  Zach sits up in bed and Chris follows.  Zach doesn’t try to arrange his pillows this time.

“I want you to answer a question.  Truthfully and in full, okay?”

“I don’t want to.”

“Tough shit,” Chris retorts.  “I’m invoking the Hon-”

“ _No_.”

Chris gapes at him.  “No, there’s no ‘ _no_ ’ here.”

“No.”

“You don’t get to decide which rules you’ll follow when!”

“ _You_ broke the rule.  Just yesterday.”

Chris is ashamed momentarily, and annoyed that Zach is bringing it up when he already forgave him, but then comes the dawn of understanding.  “Yeah,” he says.  “I broke the rule to protect myself.”  He’s never seen such a plain _oh shit_ expression cross Zach’s face before.  “Is that why you–”

“Please.”  He sounds desperate now.  “Please.  Just for now – just drop it.”

“Why are you so afraid of–”

“ _Drop it_.”  Zach turns his face away, glaring at the window.

Chris looks down at his chest, at his heart on display for anyone to see.  “Sometimes I think you’re just a coward, Zach,” he mutters, pulling back the covers and sitting up.

“Wait.”  Zach grabs him by the wrist, and Chris slowly looks back at him.  Zach starts to smile.  “Hell of an exit line.  I’m sorry I snapped.  Don’t be mad at me.”

“Let go of my wrist.”

“But–”

“Zach, I’m just going to get some water.  Let go.”

“Oh.  Sorry.”

But it’s not just the water Chris needs, it’s a moment of space between them so he can think.  When he comes back, Zach seems worried.  “Do you really think I’m a coward?” he asks, when Chris has burrowed back under the covers.

“Maybe.  I don’t know.  No.  You’re not a coward, just – closed off.  I shouldn’t have said that, I’m sorry.  I was just mad.”

“You’re not going to leave me, are you?” 

Chris stares at him.  “Why would I leave?  Because of this?”  He waves his hand at his chest.

“No, well, I guess, but I meant…if you were angry at me.”

Zach has that vulnerable look in his eyes again.  Telling him what an idiot he is probably isn’t the best strategy right now.  “No.  Just because I get pissed sometimes doesn’t mean I’m going to leave.  It takes me longer to get over some things than it takes you, but I always get over them.  And I wish you’d stop worrying that I’m going to dump you.”

“I know.  Me, too.”

“Look, I want to ask you this question, and if you don’t want to answer, that’s fine for now.  You can have a free pass, because I _did_ break the rule yesterday.  But if you don’t want to tell me, just say that, don’t deflect it or be all mysterious about it, okay?”

Zach has an air of petulance about him, but eventually shrugs.  “Alright.”

Chris takes a moment to compose his thoughts.  Sometimes dealing with Zach is like trying to coax out a skittish, mistrustful animal, and he doesn’t want to say the wrong thing.  “When you do that stuff, like saving Noah and donating to charities and eating tofu – are you trying to create a…some kind of balance in your life?”

“I _love_ Noah.  And tofu.”

“ _Zach_.”

“Maybe.  Maybe, okay?  I don’t know.  I don’t want to–”

“Alright, alright,” Chris sighs.  “Leave it.  That’s enough for now.”

“You can ask me other stuff, anything else, just–”

“Forget it, Zach.”

They fall quiet again, but Zach is practically radiating distress.

“Okay.  Then how about this – what do you like about the control?”

“I find it calming.”

“Yeah, you said that once before.  Calming?  Really?”

“Yes.”

“See, I thought it would be _stressful_.”  It’s interesting to Chris.  Something to think about.  “It’s a lot of responsibility.  To have total control over someone like that.”

“For me, it’s calming.  And I don’t have total control, anyway.”

“You’re always _saying_ you’re in control,” Chris laughs.

“Yeah.  Well.”  Zach sounds slightly embarrassed.  “That’s just something I like to say.  We have safe words for a reason, you know?  You always hold that power.”

Chris feels his eyes widen.  For some reason, he’s never thought about the safe words as a power issue before.

“And I mean,” Zach continues, “if I told you to jump off a bridge, it’s not like you would, right?”

Chris opens his mouth to reply, but nothing comes out.

“ _Right_?”

“No, I guess not.”

“You _guess_ not?”

“I wouldn’t jump off a bridge if you told me to, okay?”

“Pine, you have _got_ to start getting some survival instincts happening.  You are fucking _terrifying_.”

“ _I’m_ terrifying?”

“Yes,” Zach says firmly.

Chris starts laughing; he can’t help it, even though it kills his chest.  And eventually Zach joins in, asking, “What are we laughing about?”  Chris laughs till he cries and then can’t stop giggling a little longer.  Zach is just as bad, though, and they keep setting each other off.

“I’m not terrifying,” Chris pants at last.  “ _You_ are terrifying.  And the only reason I had to stop and think about it was because – because I’d pretty much do anything if it would make you happy, Zach.  Because I love you.”

“Yeah,” Zach says after a while.  “I love you too.  If you knew how much, you’d run away screaming, that’s the problem.  Or maybe you wouldn’t – maybe _that’s_ the problem.”

“Dude, that makes no sense, and anyway – I think I’ve built up a pretty solid evidence base so far for _not_ leaving you.  No running and no screaming.”

Zach twists his head towards Chris, a glint in his eye.  “There’s been plenty of screaming, Pine.”

Chris grins.  “Tell me what it’s like.  If you find the control calming, does that mean when you’re not doing it, that you’re…What’s an antonym for calm?  Frustrated?”

“Agitated?  Perturbed?  Turbulent?”

“There you go.”

“Do we have to talk about this right now?  My diaphragm hurts from laughing.”

“My entire fucking _chest cavity_ hurts from laughing, so I win.  And I say–”

“I could make you feel better.  _Much_ better.”

“–oh.  Okay.  Wait – we haven’t finished talking about–”

“We can talk about it later.”  Zach is already grabbing at the lube, which is nearly empty.  “We need more of this.  I’ll go shopping later.”

“Zach–”

“Come on.  I didn’t get to come last night.”  Zach starts pulling off his clothes.

“Another guilt trip?  I have my limits, Quinto.  I’m gonna have to safe word on you there.”

Zach laughs.  “Okay, no guilting.  But come on.  I want to make you feel good, I promise.”

“Fine,” Chris grumbles.  “But no ouchy stuff, not right now.  And later, we’re finishing this conversation.”

“Later,” Zach says against his mouth.  “And no ouches.  I’ll just look.”  He bounces up on the bed, playful again, and Chris has to smile.  “Just like this.”  Zach straddles him gently, holding on to his shoulders.  “That’s okay, right?  I won’t touch, not where it hurts.  Even though it really does look gorgeous.  Amazing work, even if I do say so myself.”

“Not like I have anyone else’s work to compare it to.”

“Take my word for it.  I’m the van Gogh of sadomasochism.”

“And so modest!”

“A genius needs to shed self-doubt, Pine.”  Zach forestalls his response by putting fingers over his mouth.  “That’s enough out of you.  Just be quiet now and let me enjoy myself.  You like doing what I tell you to do, don’t you?  You’re so good like that when you want to be.”

And oh, does he _want_ to be right now.  Chris opens his mouth a little, inviting Zach’s fingers in.  Zach lets him suck for a while as he studies Chris’s chest, his breath picking up gradually.

“Best blow job around, these days,” he says at last, looking Chris in the eye again.  “But have you been practicing with your hands too?”  Chris nods.  “You have?  See, you _are_ good.  Show me.”  Zach removes his fingers from Chris’s mouth and takes up his hand instead, squeezing out the last of the lube into his palm. 

Chris watches Zach’s face carefully as he wraps his fingers firmly around his dick, already hard, looking for clues.  He quickly settles on a twist-and-flick, falling into a rhythm as Zach’s fingers tighten on his shoulders.  “That’s good, very good, Christopher.  You’re so good to me.”  He leans forward slowly, taking every care in the world to avoid touching the sunset on Chris’s chest, and kisses him, leaves his mouth pressed hard while he follows the trail of Chris’s hand over his cock.

When Chris feels Zach’s hand on him, grabbing around his dick possessively, he starts in surprise.  “Told you I’d make you feel better,” Zach says, kissing his forehead briefly.  It’s weird, having Zach over him but not pressed up against him, and his skin starts up a new ache.  But when Chris tries to pull him down harder, tugging at his shoulder, Zach braces himself against the wall.

“No.  No pain.  Just come for me.  I want to watch you shoot all over that beautiful picture I’ve made.”

Chris doesn’t need much more encouragement, not with Zach’s fingers working over him with artistic certainty.  Their knuckles are brushing together and Zach is talking in his ear, telling him how good it feels and how much he wants to bite him but he’s not going to because _no ouchy stuff_.

Chris wants to protest about bites being _totally_ different, but it’s too late – his hand falters on Zach’s cock – “Come on, come for me,” Zach demands, and he does, on command.  Zach pulls back to watch, but when Chris’s hand contracts around him he shoots too, and – _bites_.

  
***

  
Chris dozes off again, and when he wakes it’s lunchtime and he’s _starving_.  He feels surprisingly okay.  His body still aches, and there’s a familiar, welcome sting in his shoulder, but there’s nothing as bad as when he first woke.  His head is clear and his mood is stable. 

And he has another damn ice pad taped to his chest.

Zach isn’t there, although he’s left a brief note for Chris on the kitchen counter: _Gone for groceries.  Call me if you need me and I’ll come straight back.  If you’re still in pain, take a Tylenol – other stuff is only twice daily._   Chris has to smile.  Zach’s aftercare remains meticulous.

He has a sandwich and then showers, trying to let the water hit only his back, and when he gets out, Zach has arrived home with a bag full of food and a wide smile.

“I like you being here when I get home,” Zach says, kissing him.

“I like it too.”  The domesticity of it all does touch him, like they could _work_ like this, together, being happy – and okay, maybe bickering sometimes, but still content underneath it all.

“I know you think you get all weak and faux-anemic if you don’t get a regular infusion of red meat, so I thought we could have steak tonight.  You’re staying, right?  How’s the drop?”

“Yes, I’m staying.  Not bad, actually.”

“Oh, and I got some of your popsicles.”  Zach waves the packet at him, and Chris laughs. 

“ _Speaking_ of popsicles, what about your fucking-in-every-room plan?”

Zach snorts.  “You’re insatiable, Christopher.  You need to rest a bit.”

“I’m fine,” he tells Zach.  And it’s true.  He’s feeling sore still, but he figures that orgasms can only help.

“Seriously?  You want to start _now_?”

“Sure.  Then afterwards we can talk more about this whole–” he points at himself “–situation.”

“I thought we were finished discussing that.”

“No.  I wanna ask a few questions, but yeah, I think I’m up for it.”

“Really?”  Zach looks astonished.

“Really.”

“Well, okay.”  Zach tries not to look too excited, turning away to shove things in the freezer, and Chris feels good about his decision.  “We already did the kitchen, although I guess that depends on your definition.  Are we playing Clinton Rules?”

“Yep.  Penetration or it doesn’t count.”

“Then maybe leave the kitchen for another time.  I have to cook in here later.  And that would be weird.”  He wrinkles his nose, and Chris chuckles.

“Bathroom?  Lounge?”  They decide on the latter, but are immediately hampered by an unprecedented situation: no lube.

“This is ridiculous,” Chris says, exasperated, as they paw through the bathroom.  “I mean, come on, Zach.  You, the master of preparation?”

“I swear to God I _had_ some.  _And_ I bought some more, just now at the store.  Where in the hell…”  Zach goes to check the kitchen again, just in case.  Chris decides to try the en suite bathroom.  Nothing. 

Definitely none in the top drawer of Zach’s bedroom nightstand.  “Well, damn,” Chris says.  “I think you’re out, man,” he calls through.

No answer.  Chris hopes he’s having more luck.  “Goddamn it, Zach, there’s gotta be _something_ here.  What self-respecting gay man doesn’t have a back-up stash, for Christ’s sake?” 

He starts pulling out things from the second drawer.  A few photos of Zach’s family, and of Chris.  He smiles.  An old _Heroes_ script, dog-eared.  Some theater tickets from 2004 stuck inside a program.

His hand touches a tube and he gives a shout.  “Wait a minute! – oh.  No, false alarm.”  It’s IcyHot, not lube, and Chris really doesn’t want to give Zach any more ideas than he already has.  “ _Very_ false alarm,” he adds loudly, for good measure.

Under the tube is a small, black book.  Chris scrabbles for it, pulls it out, wondering if there’s anything else underneath.  Nope.  He unthinkingly opens the notebook.  It’s filled with Zach’s spiky writing, falling naturally open to the last used page, where the spine is bent.

 _“Where love rules, there is no will to power, and where power predominates, love is lacking. The one is the shadow of the other.”  CGJ  
_  
The words have been scratched into the page again and again until the paper has torn.

“What.  The _fuck_.  Are you doing?”

Chris jumps, startled, and sees Zach glaring at him from the doorway.  Or at least, someone who looks like Zach, sounds like Zach, but is not quite Zach – not _his_ Zach.

“Nothing.  I was looking for –”

“Put that down,” Zach snaps.

Chris makes the mistake of looking down at the notebook in his hands, confused.  “I’m –”

Zach stalks across the room immediately, and Chris has time to hope, really hope, that all that yoga and all that tofu _have_ actually helped Zach find a balance before he stumbles backwards into the wall, remembering what Zach said in Central Park: _All that stuff I do to you and you don’t think I could hit you?_

 __Zach stops just in front of him and one part of Chris’s mind is saying, _Move, you moron, duck or something!_ but he can’t because he’s still sure, he still trusts, and maybe Zach was right, maybe he trusts too much.  Zach, breathing heavily and clenching his fists, takes one small step back.  He bends gracefully to grab the notebook from the floor where Chris has dropped it.

“Get out.  Go wait in the other room.”  Chris fights the urge to run, but the look Zach is giving him is truly fucking scary.  “Get.  Out.”

“I’m sorry,” Chris says, retreating quickly.  He holds his hands up like he’s fending off an attack and walks backwards out of the room, because nothing could compel him to turn his back right now.

  
***

  
Chris sits for ten minutes, waiting for his adrenaline rush to slow, before he starts wondering about Zach.  He’s still shocked and kind of jumpy, and waiting to see if anger might kick in.  His heart rate has fallen back into normal range but his whole chest is throbbing.

He’s surprised that he’s not angry.  Just weirded out.  Confused.  Worried, mostly about Zach.  But sitting in the lounge waiting for Zach to reappear is not helping, so he tells himself, “It’s Zach.  It’s just Zach,” and goes back down the hallway to see what’s going on.

Zach is sitting on the side of the bed, his head in his hands.  The notebook is next to him.

“Zach?” Chris stays in the doorway.  Zach doesn’t move, although Chris can see his muscles go taut.  “I’m sorry.  About, um.  Whatever you got mad about.”

Zach lifts his face up towards the ceiling, straightens his back, his eyes closed.  “Please tell me I didn’t hurt you,” he says.

“You didn’t.  You just kind of freaked the fuck out of me, because I’m not sure exactly what happened–” Chris wants to stop babbling, but he’s nervous and Zach is still not looking at him.  “So, but, no, you didn’t hurt me, just scared me.  Can I come in?”

Zach opens his eyes and looks at the ceiling now, and Chris hopes that’s a good sign.  But he still doesn’t come in to the room, just in case.  And Zach still doesn’t say anything.

“I’m sorry,” Chris says again.

“Please don’t – don’t.”  Zach, to Chris’s horror, slumps over on the bed like all the spirit has rushed out of him and pushes his face into the pillow.  “Don’t _apologize_ ,” he says, or that’s what Chris thinks he’s saying.  It’s a bit muffled.  “I can’t believe I did that.”

Chris takes a chance and comes into the room.  “Hey, it’s cool.  It was…an accident.”

Zach sits up again and stares at him, his face ashen.  “In what fucking universe was that an accident?  That was not an accident.  That was me losing it and –and _threatening_ you.  Jesus _Christ_.  I’m sorry.  I’m so sorry.”

Chris has never seen such self-loathing written plainly across Zach’s face before, and he doesn’t want to see it ever again.  “It’s okay.  It’s not the end of the world.”

“I think…I think we’d better break up,” Zach whispers, and if he gets any paler, Chris is worried he’s going to pass out. 

“Don’t be a dumbass.  We’re not breaking up over _that_.”

“That was not – that was not controlled.  I lost control.  I can’t trust myself.  If I can’t control myself, we need to break up.”  Zach is speaking so quietly and so quickly that Chris can barely hear him, but he gets the gist.

“Zach, I’ve tried to hit you _twice_ , for Christ’s sake, and we got past that.  So we’re not breaking up now.  You’re freaking out.  I know the feeling.  Come and have a popsicle.  You’ll feel better.”

Zach stares at him mutely, his eyes huge and fearful, so Chris pulls at his arm and gets him on his feet.  Neither of them look at the book, still lying on the bed.

Chris seats Zach on the sofa and gets him a red popsicle, so at least his lips will stain back to a normal color.  “Wait for the sugar hit.  Usually helps me afterwards.  Right?”  He takes a second to feel proud of how much he’s picked up from Zach about aftercare stuff – not that this is aftercare, _per se_.  Only, it kind of is. 

Zach sucks ponderously for a while, and Chris is relieved to see him start to look less pallid.  But he won’t look at Chris, not yet.

“So, Quinto.  What’s going on?”

Zach looks away.  “I am sucking on flavored ice.  And wishing I were dead.”

“Oh, come on.  Maybe they’re not organic, but popsicles aren’t _that_ bad.”  It’s a stupid joke, the kind that Zach usually laughs at.  “This is serious.  Not even a smirk.”  Chris sits down next to him.  “I’m fine.  We’re fine.”  He reaches out to brush his hair, but Zach flinches away.

“That was completely inexcusable.”

“That’s for me to decide.”  Chris pulls his face round insistently and kisses him gently.  Zach’s lips are freezing, but his tongue rapidly warms.  “Now you really are my Icy Bear,” Chris says, smiling at him.  No response.  “I’d like to know what that was all about.”

Zach actually _cringes_ , and it’s the strangest thing Chris has seen today.

“Tell me.”

“That was my journal.”

“Oh.”  Chris had no idea that Zach kept a journal, like he does himself, but it’s a totally Zach thing to do, he realizes.  He’s more surprised that he hasn’t come across it sooner.  “What do you write about?”  Zach shakes his head slightly.  “Me?” Chris grins.

“Sometimes.”

“Only sometimes?  I am _affronted_.”

“I don’t want to jinx it.  Us.  This.”  His popsicle is dripping over his hand, so Chris pulls his wrist up gently and licks at Zach’s sticky fingers.  “You shouldn’t – don’t be so nice to me.  I can’t believe I –”

“What else do you write about?”  Chris takes the popsicle away and starts sucking on it himself.  No point letting it go to waste, and Zach doesn’t look very interested in it anymore.

“Me,” Zach says bluntly.  “Isn’t that the point of a journal?”

“I didn’t read anything.  Much.”

Zach looks down at his hands.  “I thought…”

“I didn’t know what it was, Zach.  I wouldn’t have looked if I’d known.  I’m sorry.”

“Please don’t apologize again.”  Zach closes his eyes.  “You are not the one in the wrong here.”

  
***

  
Zach is very quiet for the rest of the day until night fall, even after Chris gets him to do some yoga and critique his own efforts, which Zach does with no conviction at all.  He gives Chris another painkiller afterwards and avoids sex, which is frustrating, but also worrying, because Zach rarely avoids sex.  He usually uses sex as a problem- _solver_.  But when Chris tries to touch him, he pulls away, his eyes unfocused.

The most disconcerting thing is that Zach just can’t get over it.  Chris can see it in his face all afternoon and into the evening.

They order Chinese for dinner instead of having steak, and eat in near-silence, in front of the television, until Chris has had enough.

“This is ridiculous,” he says, snapping off the television.  “Look, if you had my journal in your hands, and I walked in and thought you were reading it, I would lose it too, okay?  It’s not as big a deal as you’re making it.  You _didn’t_ hit me and you _didn’t_ hurt me.”

“You have a journal too?” Zach asks, and it’s the first sign of interest he’s shown in conversation.

“Sure.”

“I didn’t know that.  Is it because of – acting?”

“No, I…I’ve just always kept one.”  At any other time, and with any other person, Chris would probably be embarrassed about it, because he’s been teased about it most of his life when guys found out.

Zach looks across at him.  “What do _you_ write about?”

“Stuff.  Books I read.  Work, and the people I work with.  A little about us – you – but not much.”  Because the real stuff, the heart of things – Chris can’t write that down without it seeming trite.

“Not much about me?  Now _I’m_ affronted.”  Zach gives a tiny smile.  It’s the first positive sign Chris has seen, so he takes advantage, pushing Zach back in to the couch and sitting astride him.

“I found the lube.  You put it in the freezer with the popsicles.”

Zach blinks.  Finally looks amused.  “Oh.  I guess I was distracted.”

“By?”

“You, prowling around the kitchen in low-slung jeans and asking me to fuck you.  Not fair.  And – this.”  His fingers hover over Chris’s chest, not touching, until Chris pushes Zach’s hand flat under his, over his heart.  Zach’s eyes go almost comically round, and he tries to pull away but Chris pushes firmly.

“No.  And don’t struggle, please, because you’ll just make it hurt worse.”

Zach bites his lip.  “I don’t think this is a good idea.”

“Of course you don’t.  But Zach – I know why you wanted to do this, to see inside me like this.”  They both look at Chris’s chest, at the changes that are already starting, the new hues appearing.  “Like a magic trick, right?  That's what you said.  And I get it - you want to know me as much as you can.  It’s the same for me.  When I ask you questions, it’s not because I’m judging whether or not I should stay with you.  It’s because I want to know you too, inside out.”

“Believe me, you really don’t want to,” Zach says bitterly.

“Quit _saying_ stuff like that.”

“You don’t understand.”

“Then _make_ me understand, stop – stop hiding from me.”

They stare at each other for a full minute, Chris challenging and Zach blank, before Zach purposefully slides his hand out from under Chris’s.  “Get off me, please.”

“Jesus fucking – fine.  Okay.”  Chris rolls off, feeling defeated, and Zach leaves the room.

But he’s back again within a minute.  He stands in front of Chris and holds out the black notebook.

“Abracadabra.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Chris says immediately.  “That’s private.”

“It’s okay.  I want you to read it.”  He takes Chris’s hand and wraps it around the journal under his own.

“No, seriously, Zach–”

“Like you said before: don’t struggle.  Please.  You’ll just make it hurt worse.”  Zach looks obstinate.  “You were right.  I want to know everything about you, and I go about that in my own crazy way.  But for balance – and yeah, you were right about that too, Christopher, balance is important to me – for balance, you should know about me as well.  At least then you might know what you’re getting into, since you’re so determined to stay with me.”

Chris can feel temptation rising up in him like a physical force, the desire to open the cover and read voraciously until every word is seared into him forever, but Zach’s gesture is too much.  The consequences could be too much.

So instead, he lets it fall open to the page he read before, the quote scratched right through the business-like, white lined paper.  “Just tell me about this.  Just this for now.  And then you keep your journal, Zach, and if I ever decide I want to read it, I’ll ask you.”

“I–” Zach takes a step back.  “It’s a quote from Jung,” he says, his voice dull.

“Where love rules, there is no will to power, and where power predominates, love is lacking. The one is the shadow of the other.”  Zach looks _petrified_.  But Chris perseveres.  “Why is it so important to you?”

“I’ve had a lot of therapy.  I’ve read a lot of Jung.  I _like_ Jung.  He makes sense to me.”  Chris waits, impassive.  “Jesus.  Christopher, I can’t – does it have to be _that_?  You couldn’t read an entry that’s all hearts and flowers about you and ask me about that instead?”  Zach starts wandering the room, agitated. 

Chris grins.  “Maybe we can do that later.  Come on, Zach.  Spill it.”

“I love you,” Zach says at last.  “More than I ever thought I could.  I never expected to feel this way.”

“Okay.”

“I’ve never wanted to hurt someone as badly as I want to hurt you.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?  _Okay_?”

“Zach, what do you want me to say?  I _like_ it when you–”

“Well, don’t say _that!_ ”  Zach grabs at the back of the lounge chair, his knuckles turning white.  “You’re just _encouraging_ me.”

Chris stands up.  “Are you saying you don’t want that – that part of the relationship anymore?”

“No, I want it, of course I want it.  I want it _too much_.”  He puts his hands over his face.  “That’s what the quote is.  I thought – because I loved you so much, that I’d want to hurt you _less_.  But it’s not working that way at all and that means I’m totally fucked up, completely _wrong_ –”

“Stop.  Never say that about yourself again.  Ever.”

“If you _knew_ what I wanted to –”

“Zach.  I’m not stupid.  I understand what this is about,” Chris says quietly, holding out his arms a little.  “I get it.”

“You don’t.  You can’t.  If you did you would get out and get away from me as fast as you could.  That’s what you _should_ do.”

“Well, I’m not.”

“If I could, I _would_ control you totally.”  Zach sounds wild, and he’s visibly shaking.

“I don’t think so.  You’ve always said you didn’t want a 24/7 thing.”

“Because I never did before!” Zach shouts, and then – looks surprised.  He puts a hand over his mouth, like he’s afraid of what might come out next.

Chris sits down again, suddenly tired.  “Zach, I don’t see how a 24/7 thing would work with us on opposite coasts, even if you _did_ want that, and I don’t think you do; I think you just miss me.  Now listen.  You’ve been worried about _me_ all day and the drop.  Did you ever stop to worry about yourself?”

Zach gives a long, resigned sigh behind his hand.  “No.  Probably not.”

“Appropriate self-interest, buddy.  Show some.”

“Yeah.  The drop.”  Zach sits down heavily on the sofa next to Chris. 

“Because you did get a little like this last time.”

“Yeah.”

Chris reaches to put his hand over Zach’s.  “How are you feeling?”

“Not great.”

“What do you need?”

“I have no idea.”  Zach _does_ sound mystified.

“Yesterday, you said we would take care of each other if things got bad.”

“Yesterday, I didn’t know I would be yelling about Carl Gustav Jung and wanting to control you.”  Chris can hear the sardonic tone creeping back into Zach’s voice, and rejoices. 

“I think we should finish what we started,” he says confidently.  “I think once we’re finished, we’ll both feel better.”

“And I think that you’re insane.”

“Zach, come on.  I’m serious.”

“So am I!”

Chris grabs his hand, stands, and starts pulling Zach up off the couch.  “Imagine if van Gogh had never finished _Starry Night_.”

“I’m starting to think I’m more of an Edvard Munch than a Vincent van Gogh.”

“A genius needs to shed self-doubt, Zachary.”

“ _You_ need to stop remembering every little damn thing I say,” Zach groans, but he’s letting Chris tug him down the hall to the bedroom.

“Please, Zach.  I want to do this for you.  _And_ me.  I’m curious.”

“Too curious, that’s your trouble.  This won’t be pleasant for you, and I don’t think you’ll like it.”

“What we do together is not just for my benefit.  It’s for yours as well.”

“But –”

Chris pulls him into a kiss.  “Please.  I want you to do this.”

Zach starts tugging tentatively at Chris’s jeans, but as he inches them down he begins to look more focused and determined.  “If you want to, really want to, I’ll do it.  But you need to take care of yourself and stop me if you –”

“I will, I will.”

Zach has him naked now, and pauses to look him over.  “I mean it, Christopher, this is going to _hurt_.  Even though you’ve had a heavy duty painkiller and time to recover.”  But he’s casual now, at ease, back in his element.

“I understand.”

“Lie on the bed, please, face up.”  Zach straddles him, and Chris closes his eyes.  “This is going to be painful immediately.  And much worse than yesterday.”

 _That was the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth_ , Chris thinks, as soon as Zach lays hands on him.  _Help me, God_.  Zach is not using the pads of his fingers this time, but his nails, and it’s excruciating from the first second.  So bad, in fact, that Chris is pretty sure he couldn’t get enough air in his lungs to scream even if he wanted to. 

Zach stops.  “You need to breathe,” he says.  “You’re not breathing.”

“I’ll breathe, I’ll breathe, I’m breathing right now,” Chris gasps.  “Keep going.  Keep _going_.”  He can tell Zach is hesitant, and fights to calm himself.  “I’ll breathe, I promise.  I _promise_.  Please.  Keep going.”

It goes on, Zach scraping across his flesh, and Chris endures; it seems to be a faster pace than yesterday and that’s the only good thing about it as far as Chris is concerned, and then it stops, suddenly.

“Too loud,” Zach says briefly, and Chris stares at him.

“I’m not even –”

“You _are_.  Last warning.  Or I’ll have to gag you.  And I’d appreciate it you could disengage your fingernails from my arms.”  Chris looks down and sees that Zach is right – he’s clutching at his biceps.  “You need to go under.”

“I don’t think I can.  Christ, I want to, but…Help me.  Please.  I want to go under.”

Zach smiles, free and open.  “And _I_ want you to.  You want to make me happy, don’t you?  Yeah, I can see that you do.  So what do you need?”

“Tell me I’m…”

Zach leans forward, holding down his wrists and pressing right up against him until Chris feels like his whole body is on fire, and tells him how brave he is and how good and _just slip under for me, go wandering and let me call you back when it’s all done.  Be quiet for me, be good and be quiet._

  
***

  
“It’s like a window,” Chris says afterwards.  They stand side by side in the bathroom, both staring at him in the mirror.  “A twisted window.”

“You – you look like you’re going to be sick.”

Zach has scratched in his rib bones again, so that they’re in sharper relief: red abrasions over a colorful background.  And vague markings for his lungs and – Chris doesn’t even want to consider it further.  As the background fades, Zach told him, it will look even better, layer on layer of color, changing daily.  Chris could tell he was trying not to sound too effusive.

He feels like a Monet version of vivisection.

“I –”

“No,” Chris says.  “It’s alright.  Just a bit confronting.”

“Not so magic after all.”

Chris lets out a short, painful laugh.  “Magic isn’t always a good thing.  But this – this was a good thing.  I don’t regret it.”

“Thank you.  Thank you for this – I – it was exactly what I wanted, and you were right.  I needed this, I needed to see it finished.  And we’re never doing this again.”

“Zach –”

“No.  I know, now.  I saw – what I wanted to see.  I don’t need this again.  I’ll never forget it.  I can see that you don’t like it, not really, but – it _is_ like magic to me, and I’ll never forget it.  Can you hang on to the counter for a second, or sit down?  I need to get bandages and –”  Zach busies himself like the most competent of paramedics, and Chris grips the sink, staring at his own insides.

“Abracadabra,” he says softly.  “Presto chango.”

After Zach has medicated him, salved him, bandaged him, soothed him, kissed him and put him back to bed, he takes out his journal again.

“I told you I don’t want to –”

“And I heard you.  But I want to write down what you said while you were under.”

“What did I say?”

“More poetry, Christopher.”  Zach flicks a few pages to find unblemished paper with no tears from the Jung quote, and scribbles.  “I Googled while you were still flying.  Googled on my phone,” he adds quickly.  “I would never leave you alone in that state.”  Chris smiles.  He knows that.

 _There is mud on my feet,  
Thick, red and slipping. It is Adam's side,  
This earth I rise from, and I in agony.  
I cannot undo myself_

“Do you recognize it?” he asks, as Chris reads.

“It’s Plath.”

“Yes.  Gassed-herself-in-an-oven Plath.  Should I be worried?”  His tone is light, but Chris doesn’t want him to dwell on this, and he knows he will, given the events of the day.

“Sylvia Plath wrote a lot about transformation and stripping away layers of the self.  That’s probably why I was thinking of her.  So no, you don’t have to worry.  It’s a good thing.”

“Transformation and stripping away layers of the self.  I like that.”  Zach writes it down underneath the quote and then puts the book away.

Chris grabs his wrist.  “And just so we’re clear – you owe _me_ a magic trick now, Zach.”

Zach looks trapped for a moment, like he wants to argue.  But then he nods.  “Fair trade.  You’re learning, Grasshopper.”

“Not Grasshopper,” Chris says, with a small smile.  “The Sorcerer’s Apprentice."


End file.
